


Sweeter at the Marrow

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 11:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20024854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: She sets him to learning lovemaking the way Haldon would have him memorize dates or conjugate verbs: concentration and repetition, practice practice practice.





	Sweeter at the Marrow

**Author's Note:**

> For the asoiafrarepairs prompt: Aegon VI x Lemore, It was like any other night aboard the Shy Maid as it drifted along the Rhoyne, but tonight Septa Lemore decides that it is time to teach him how to make love to a woman.

“Is this what all Septas do?”

Lemore smiles at the question. He knows full well it’s not, but he always did like to be special. He likes to be reminded of it. Usually that comes in the form of talking of his role to come, his birthright, his destiny. Tonight it comes in the form of his mouth at her tits, his fingers in her cunt, her hand on his cock. He likes the idea that she’s breaking rules for her desire of him.

“No,” she says, punctuating it with a twist of her hand on his cock, the slide of her thumb across his lips. She’d never tell him she’s barely passable as far as Septas go, or point out that a woman’s options are few on the Shy Maid: a man wed, a man knighted, a man near enough to a maester, and a man in love with the dead. Young Griff doesn’t need to know such a thing though. Students do best when they feel they’re being rewarded, after all.

She sets him to learning lovemaking the way Haldon would have him memorize dates or conjugate verbs: concentration and repetition, practice practice practice. Truthfully, she’s imagined this with him for weeks now, daydreaming about him touching her body every time she watched his strong young hands tying off ropes, fantasizing about him supping at her cunt instead of at meals, imagining him fucking her everywhere, all through the day, wherever she was and no matter who saw. It left her in a constant state of arousal, one entirely unfitting for the holy woman she pretends to be. So in a sense, the reward is hers as well as his. She is not a woman meant to go without.

“There,” she says, after she’s pushed his head down between her spread thighs. Her cabin is one of the largest on board but still it’s small and cramped, and somehow it makes everything seem filthy and feral, their limbs tangling like the rigging above deck and one of her feet planted on the bulkhead above him. She takes his hand and presses his fingers to the knot of nerves already throbbing in anticipation of his mouth. “Right there. Start with licking and then suck.”

“Suck?” He looks up at her from between her legs, his hair wild from her fingers, his mouth red from kissing. There’s a small patch of hair on his jaw that he missed when shaving – still a new part of his routine – and something about it tugs at her heart.

“Yes. As if you’re eating a perfectly ripe piece of fruit and don’t want to lose a single drop of nectar.” His eyes go dark at that, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Such sweetly grateful boy he is, so responsive, no matter that she’s nearly thrice his age. It’s intoxicating. Lemore thought that this would be scratching an itch, nothing like her fantasies but good enough to improve on her own hand. She thought she’d feel powerful. Generous. Instead she feels giddy, urgent, _needy_. 

“Nectar,” he says, then makes an experimental face, looking like nothing so much as a fish surprised to find itself on the end of a hook. Lemore laughs, but the sound turns into a gasp when he applies his mouth to her, laving her with his tongue before sucking tentatively. Sweet, merciful heavens, she thinks. Sweet, wonderful boy.

He’s inexpert but eager, so eager. His mouth works at her noisily, his tongue finding every crevice and nook. Remembering herself, remembering her role, she coaches him through it with a voice gone rough from pleasure, at first guiding and correcting him, but then only praising him, telling him how good it feels, how good he is, _so good, Griff, so fucking good._ He moans when she threads her fingers through his hair and pulls his face hard into her, steadying him as she rocks her hips against his mouth with an insistence bordering on desperation. 

When she comes, he braces one hand on the wall next to her hip, one on the bed frame beside her. Even with no touch on his cock, he suddenly stiffens and groans, jerking with the force of his own crisis. He presses his face to her abdomen, nearly sobbing as his release stripes her shin and ankle, and she could fall in love with him then, if she didn’t know better. 

She could anyway, even if she did.

He crawls up afterward to lay his head on her breast like a babe, his knee cocked across her hips, the gust of his breath raising gooseflesh on her skin, and like a mother she holds him, coos soothing nonsense into the top of his head, gives him the sort of affection she never would as her pupil. She’s spent so long protecting herself, guarding her secrets. She’d almost forgotten how sweet it could feel to be vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters when he’s finally able to rouse himself, lifting his head and propping his chin on her breast to look at her.

Lemore laughs. “Whatever for?”

“For…” His cheeks color and he averts his eyes. “I didn’t mean to… You _know_. I tried to stop myself but I couldn’t. You’re too…” His flush darkens and he buries his face between her breasts with a groan.

She laughs again, the sound holding no mockery. “I'm _too_, am I? That’s quite a compliment.”

“You know what I mean,” he mumbles into her skin. That patch of hair on his jaw rubs against the inside of her breast, scratching a raw spot that she intends to have him soothe with his tongue shortly. He looks up again, his expression sheepish. “I wanted to…to make love to you.”

She arches her brow. “Make love?”

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes gone dark again, breathing gone heavy. “I wanted to fuck you.” His cock stirs against her hip, though he spent not quarter of an hour past. Lemore smiles. It’s an unexpected benefit of a boy who’s only just become a man: not only is he eager, he’s able as well. 

“My sweet boy,” she says, her hand already moving, her legs already parting. “What makes you think our lesson is done?”


End file.
